


the part you're born to play

by pocky_slash



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Developing Relationship, M/M, Meeting the Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is absolutely no reason why Erik's mother shouldn't like Charles, and yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the part you're born to play

**Author's Note:**

> This follows [this ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/677419/chapters/1274448) and [this ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/677419/chapters/1289233) from my 25 Days of OTP but can be read on its own, I think. It was written for **pearlo** for the first line meme on Tumblr. I have had _awful_ writer's block lately and Pearl has been...incredibly patient and sweet through all of my insane texts, emails, and tweets bemoaning the state of my awful brain. I pretty much don't deserve her ♥

"My mom didn't _not_ like you," Erik says, but Charles doesn't look particularly comforted. In fact, he almost looks more miserable as he throws himself down onto the couch in Erik's apartment, pouting spectacularly. Erik likes that pout--there's something about seeing Charles unraveled and disgruntled that amuses Erik more than he'll ever admit--and he resists the urge to trace it with his finger or kiss it away.

"Moms like me!" Charles says. "Moms-- _parents_ love me. People love bringing me home! People--people bring me home when we've hardly started dating yet, purely so they can prove to their parents that they're dating a Nice Boy! I don't understand it!"

Erik sits down next to him and slips an arm around his waist, giving in to the hangdog expression, dipping his head down to press a dry kiss to Charles' neck.

"Seriously," Erik says. "She doesn't like, disapprove of you. She doesn't hate you. She's not questioning my choice to date you. She just wasn't won over by your charm offensive."

"But that's how it works!" Charles moans. "I know all the things I'm supposed to say! And I said all the right things and she's supposed to be reassured that I'm a Nice Boy and be _happy_ you're dating me and _like_ me."

"That's half the problem," Erik says, nuzzling Charles' ear.

"Stop being sexy while I'm put out," Charles insists. He crosses his arms, and Erik sits up, sighing. Charles' pout fades away into very real distress. He's troubled and confused and _young_ and once again the boy that Erik can't help but love despite his personal decision at the start of his Masters to _not_ date anyone seriously until he was finished. "What's half the problem? Why doesn't she like me?"

Erik considers reiterating that the jury's still out, that she might like him still, that Erik has a feeling that Charles will probably win her over in the end, but they've shed their roles, they've stopped playing the game, and if Charles is going to be himself, Erik can at least pay him the courtesy of doing the same. 

He kisses Charles' temple and wraps his arms around him.

"You're...practiced," he says. "You know all the right things to say. My Mom is...she's not one for playing parts. She doesn't buy into the charm offensive. She doesn't want to be a part of your narrative like that, okay?" Charles closes his eyes and rests his head against Erik's shoulder. "She thinks you're...young. And flighty. And--" He hesitates. Because they haven't really talked about this. And Charles--Charles likes playing games. He likes following a script. He likes things being as they ought to be. It's deeply fucked up, on one level, because Erik's pretty sure it's the result of a really disgusting amount of neglect in his childhood, in the same way that Raven's shoplifting arrests are. But Erik's happy to play along, to fall into the patter that Charles starts, to fill his part in the narrative, the straight man, the set-up for Charles' comments, the dark look to inspire Charles' sly grin. They've never acknowledged that there are times they're on and times when Charles is tired and worn or Erik is stressed out, times that they put it all aside and just become themselves. In bed, always, but also sometimes afternoons on the couch in Erik's apartment or on long walks through Cambridge and over the river or sitting on the roof of Charles' building, huddled under blankets and talking until dawn. Sometimes when they're out with friends, Charles goes quiet, and Erik knows, then, instinctively, that it's time to close his mouth and hold Charles' hand and let him recharge.

Erik knows there's more to Charles than the persona he's cultivated, the role he plays. But they haven't talked about where this is going, and Erik is sometimes terrified that there is no endgame, that Charles will play games with Erik and then move the story in a different direction and leave Erik behind. Not frequently--he doesn't know that any of Charles' exes have ever seen the real him, the one that Erik nurtures in the moments when Charles just desperately needs someone to stand with him and breathe with him, to occupy the same space without needing anything. Not frequently, but frequently enough that he's afraid that Charles doesn't see a future in this, that Erik is alone in mapping out the rest of their story in his mind.

He takes the plunge, though. He has to be honest with Charles when he's like this. To do otherwise would be cruel.

"She thinks you're young," Erik says. He is. Younger than Erik thought he was at that first party, despite his rosy cheeks and huge blue eyes and boyish curls. But age isn't everything. "And that...she can see through the facade. And she sees that it is a facade. And she wants to protect me. She wants to make sure I'm not invested in someone who's going to get bored and move on."

Charles pushes him away. It's not immediate. For a horrible moment, a moment when Erik doesn't know what to think, his words hang in the air, Charles still in his arms. It's the space of three breaths, and then Charles sits up and actually shoves him. When Erik turns to look at him, keeping his distance and his hands to himself, Charles is desperate, panicked, pale.

"You don't think that," he says, and it should be a statement, but his voice wavers at the end, half question, half plea. "Erik, you _don't_ think that."

He swallows. Erik moves, then, he's seen all he needs to, this conversation can end, now, because Erik has never been more certain of anything as he reaches forward and tries to pull Charles back towards his chest. Charles won't have it, though, he pushes Erik back and--oh, right, this conversation really shouldn't end until Erik says something.

"I don't," Erik assures him. "I don't. Charles--" He shrugs. "I love you," he says. He doesn't know that he's ever said it at a moment like this, a moment when they're themselves. "I didn't need this and I wasn't looking for it and there you were. And I love you."

Charles does the reaching this time, though it's not an embrace. He wraps his hands around the open lapels of Erik's jacket and holds them tightly in his hands, staring up at Erik looking simultaneously young and so, so old that Erik aches.

"I know what I'm like," Charles says. "I know sometimes it's hard to...see when I'm serious. I'm serious about this, Erik. I've never been this serious about anything in my life."

Erik smiles at him and covers Charles' hands with his own, gently prying his fingers apart. He holds Charles' hands and rubs the backs with his thumbs.

"I know," Erik says, because he does, now. "Me either. And my mom'll warm up to you once she sees you're sticking around. There's still dinner tomorrow night and she wants to do Passover here this year, so she'll be back in a month or so. You have plenty of time to prove yourself to her."

"Good," Charles says, and some of the haughtiness is back in his tone, some of the veneer of self-assurance, but his eyes are still soft and vulnerable and when he leans forward for a kiss, he whispers, "I love you too."


End file.
